


To Hear Your Voice

by lighthouse_in_eventide



Series: Alone Together [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aural Kink, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, aural fixation, no beta we die like men, slight mention of blood/violence at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse_in_eventide/pseuds/lighthouse_in_eventide
Summary: Tim starts pocket dialing Martin while he's... enjoying himself, and Martin doesn't know how to react.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: Alone Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958080
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	To Hear Your Voice

Martin’s phone buzzes. Once, twice, three times. On the fourth buzz, he wakes up with a start, fumbling for the phone. He rubs his eyes and realizes that he fell asleep on the couch, with the TV on in the background. He wasn’t really watching it anyways, it’s just old reruns of As Time Goes By. 

Martin yawns and looks at the phone. It’s still buzzing, and Tim’s name is showing on the screen. Martin frowns, and checks the time. Why would Tim be calling at 11 pm? On a Saturday, no less? It’s not like they haven’t hung out outside of work before, but it’s never spontaneous, they usually plan things in person, and invite Jon and Sasha when they can. 

He stops mid-yawn with a troubling thought. Was Tim in trouble? Did something happen, and now he was calling Martin to help him in some way? Martin sits up straight on the couch, fully awake now. His brain runs through a quick series of possibilities, each one worse than the last. Tim broken down on the side of the road, needing a lift, Tim sick and unable to leave his flat, Tim injured and bleeding out somewhere. 

When he finally answers the phone, he’s nervous, his hands slightly sweaty. There’s probably no cause for alarm, but his anxiety is on edge now, and he takes a deep breath as he answers the call.

“Hello? Tim? Are you all right?” 

Muffled noises come from the phone, and Martin presses it to his ear to hear it better. It sounds like clothing shifting, like breathing- it sounds like a pocket dial. 

Martin sighs, letting out some of the anxiety in his chest. Tim wasn’t in any trouble, he had just accidentally pressed some buttons and dialed Martin’s number. He remembers with a twinge of annoyance the amount of times he had told Tim to get a new phone, and to stop using the old one that was clearly on its last legs. 

Martin’s about to hang up the call when he hears a voice come from the phone. He presses it to his ear again, maybe Tim had realised that he was calling Martin and was trying to say hello. But there’s nothing but the shifting noises. They sound rhythmic and repetitive, and Martin thinks it might be the sound of Tim walking until he hears the voice again and freezes.

A small moan escapes the phone speaker, and Martin puts two and two together. The rhythmic shifting isn’t the sound of Tim walking. It’s the sound of Tim masturbating.  
Martin panics, his mind going blank as he realizes what’s happening. Tim must have accidentally set off his phone in his pocket, and probably had no idea that anyone could hear him. The moans get more frequent and the shifting sounds more like skin against skin now that Martin knows what it is. He knows he should hang up, he knows this is something he absolutely should _not_ be hearing, but his own pants are tightening and he can’t move. 

The moans turn to breathy gasps, and Tim whispers “fuck” several times in a row, and suddenly Martin can move again. He quickly stands and presses ‘end call’ on his phone screen. The room is dark and silent, and Martin can hear his own labored breathing as he works to lessen his death grip on the phone. 

He closes his eyes, trying to dispel the mental image in his brain of Tim lying on his bed, pants still halfway on and eyes screwed shut as his hand works methodically between his legs. He won’t lie to himself and deny his occasional Tim fantasy, but actually hearing it happen was a thousand times more intense. Martin sits down gingerly on the couch again, trying to think about anything else in the world that would calm down the erection waiting beneath his zipper. Somehow, he has to make sure Tim never _ever_ finds out about this call.

.........................................................................................................................

A week later, Martin sits on his bed, trying and failing to read a book. There isn’t any real distraction from the words, it’s just not a very good book. He’s about to close it without the bookmark and put it away for good when his phone starts buzzing. He sighs and places the bookmark in between the pages and sets it aside, begrudgingly deciding to pick it back up later. 

When he checks the phone and sees Tim’s name, he frowns again, his mind starting the thought process of _what could Tim possibly be calling for_ \- before remembering the last phone call from his friend and blushing a deep red. He lets the phone buzz and bites his lip, wondering if he should answer it. On the one hand, this could actually be a legitimate call from Tim, whether he needed something or just wanted to talk.

But on the other hand… on the other hand Martin knows he shouldn’t be listening in to something so private. More than that, he knows he shouldn’t _want_ to listen in on something like that, but oh _god_ , he wants to. The amount of times he has replayed that phone call in his mind over the past week is obscene, and the thought of it happening again is terrible, awful, and so goddamn hot.

Martin squeezes his eyes shut and answers the call, holding it to his ear in case Tim’s voice starts talking to him. He waits with bated breath, and when he hears the same methodical shifting noises coming from the other end, his held breath hitches, and he has to breathe out slowly and quietly. 

_Fuck it_ , Martin thinks. _It’s not like I’m asking to hear this. He’s the one calling me, I can’t be blamed for listening_. And so he closes his eyes and feels his entire body start to tingle as Tim jerks himself off on the other side of the line.

The noises are more intense this time. The rhythmic shifting of clothes and skin is now accompanied by the low whine of something vibrating, and then a pause, a break in the repetition. Martin’s eyes fly open, and for a moment his stomach feels sick. Has Tim discovered the phone, and Martin’s greedy ears on the other side of it?

But no, there is simply the snap of a bottle lid, and when the noises start back up again they sound wetter and messier. This sudden visceral sloppiness to the noises sends a shudder through Martin, and he becomes painfully aware of the straining in his own pants. He unzips them slowly, quietly, releasing his already hard cock from the prison of his jeans. He tells himself it’s just so he won’t be uncomfortable, that he couldn’t possibly get himself off to the breaths and moans of his friend, but… he could.

He could, and Tim would never know. Clearly Tim was too preoccupied to even notice the phone was on, let alone what was happening at the other end. Martin gently lets his hand drift between his legs, not quite under his boxers yet, but so incredibly close. He trails his fingers through the hair at the base of his stomach, feeling electric and alive.

But when Tim’s breathing starts to turn into little whining moans, Martin can’t hold back anymore. He shoves his hands under his boxers and runs his hand over his cock, matching his rhythm and speed to Tim’s. His other hand presses the phone to his ear, desperate to hear every single tiny noise he can. He thinks he can hear Tim’s belt jingling as his pants lay open, exposing the scene within, but then again he might just be imagining it. 

And oh, is he imagining it. His mind conjures up the image of Tim, zipper open and hand on his cock like the last call, but this time the bottom of a vibrator pokes out of his ass, and a bottle of lube rests nearby. In Martin’s mind, Tim clutches the blankets around him and bucks his hips as he works his arm faster and faster, and Martin mimics him, wishing to god he wasn’t too much of a coward to buy a vibrator. 

Tim’s moans get louder, and it’s all Martin can do to keep himself quiet. He hasn’t been this horny in a long time, somehow hearing someone else pleasuring themselves brings his own senses to a screaming height. He manages to hit the speaker button on the phone and drops it to his chest, reaching up to ball his fist in his own hair. He feels himself getting close to coming, but holds himself back, one coherent thought flashing through his mind as he pants and gasps. 

They had to finish together.

He doesn’t know why it feels so important, but it does. The thought of orgasming at the same time as Tim, of using Tim’s noises to mask his own cries and moans, of finishing together even though they were miles apart, is so incredibly appealing to Martin that he can hardly bear it. And so he slows his hand on his cock, rubbing it only gently to keep the momentum, to steady himself on the precipice of orgasm, and listens intently for Tim’s moans to come to a peak.

And soon enough, they do. Martin can hear a click of a button as the vibrator gets louder and more intense, and the sloppy rhythm of Tim’s hand on his cock gets faster. Tim’s moans get louder, and turn into words again, “fuck, fuck, ah, oh jesus _fuck_ ”. As Martin hears Tim shudder and gasp through his orgasm, he lets his own moans escape his lips, pulling himself faster and faster until his whole body rocks and he sees stars as he comes. 

Martin gulps, still stroking through the aftershocks of the orgasm, and fumbles with his other hand to end the call. He breathes heavily and whimpers at the overstimulation under his massaging hand, and closes his eyes, wondering what the hell he’s just done, and why he wants it again more than anything else in the world.


End file.
